


Forget

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: (dont read this im trash), Abuse, Child abuse specifically, Cronus only wanted to do good, Cronus respects Kankri, Eating Disorder, Humanstuck, M/M, Negative Thoughts, Safe-words, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Suicide, The "he" isn't a canon character., The "mother" is Porrim., character death., suicidal idealation, tw, vomitting on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cronus is respectful of safe-words but Kankri has a dark and vile past that the other raises by accident, and Kankri only has one way to deal with it.</p><p>(Trigger Warning: Suicide, self-harm, suicidal idealation, safe-words, eating disorder, vomitting on purpose, self-hatred, negative thoughts, character death, child abuse, sexual abuse, underage, generally nasty stuff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Vent work for an awful dream I had last night. It makes me sick to think about, and I’m hoping writing this allusion to it will help.

“-red-red-red-red-red-please!” 

Everything is too much, with Cronus’ hand fisted in your hair and the other cupping your bicep, the solid weight of his chest behind you and his arms around you making bile rise in your throat. He drops everything at once, shimmeying back a little on his knees from you and raising his hands palms-first to you.

Your jaw clenches and you fold in on yourself, closing your eyes and hugging your knees as you curl up on the carpeted floor. “Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god!” You chant, trying to swallow even though it hurts to with how dry your mouth is by now.

Memories hurtle through your mind, taking control of your fight or flight instinct. Like a train wreck, you barrel past him, sprinting to your bedroom and slamming the door from where he’d caught you in the living area of your apartment.

You throw yourself into the bathroom and lock the door, raising trembling hands to your face and then raking your fingers through your hair to ruin the indentation where his had been moments before. You turn to the toilet and the mug you keep your toothbrush in shatters on the tiles as you fumble for it.

Your hands are uncoordinated as you flip the seat up with a sharp clack, jamming the handle of the toothbrush down your throat to trigger your gag-reflex. You’re barely able to pull the toothbrush out of your mouth before you’re vomiting, hands clutching at the porcelain rim of the bowl.

Faintly, you hear Cronus calling your name from outside your bedroom door, respecting your privacy and, to your surprise as you think back, your safeword. This has been the first time you’ve ever had to use it, and you didn’t think he would have paid attention or remembered. You’re glad he did.

You convulse a little and sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with a spare towel before climbing over the ledge of the tub and dropping into it, catching the knob and turning the water on. Almost ice cold, the water sluices over you, and you curl up, hiccuping and reaching for a bit of broken mug.

Slowly, you raise the sliver of mug to your arm, than dig it down and drag it sideways in a quick, sharp motion. This is digusting, you think faintly, as crimson bubbles up from the scratch-nowhere deep enough to what you’d been trying to accomplish.

You move to your upper thighs and hack a little the next time you draw your makeshift blade across your skin. Disgusting, your mind briefly reminds you, and you clutch the broken piece too tightly because it slits your fingers open.

You switch hands with out thinking about it and dig into your thigh deep enough to show white muscle. Tears are mixing with the water as it runs down your face, and you choke a little, licking your lips and spitting in the general direction of the drain as bile rises again.

The incident from your lonely and rather despicable childhood always affected you. It made you want to unzip your skin and climb out of it. Your fingers slip and you go a little deeper than you meant to on the next swipe, but that’s fine, you deserve it, you think. 

You know Cronus is not him but you can’t help but still be afraid. That position scared you. That was the position he took with you. You hate it, you hate him, you hate yourself for remembering.

Your mother had plenty of boyfriends over the years, but she never would have guessed this one had a particuluar inclination towards little boys. You choke on another wave of nausea at the thought, mouth bitter, and knick your lower lip on the shard of mug without thought to wash away the taste of sick with that of metallic blood.

You’re practically seeing through a red haze by now, and Cronus’ voice has gotten steadily more concerned from outside. And nearer, too, you muse, as he must have entered your bedroom. 

You want it to stop, this memory, this monster that’s ruining you. Every time Cronus tries anything with you, you stop it because of this. You’re a terrible boyfriend. Cronus would be better off without you.

The thought makes you dig deeper, and briefly, you pause and change to vertical cuts, the intersections welling with crimson. You think you smile, a little, and you begin to feel numb, the water heating up and sending stinging pain through you.

Good, good, you’ll not have to cut as much now. You lean back in the spray, heat washing through you, than vanishing as the numbness of self harm takes over. You close your eyes, and before you know it, Cronus is before you, shouting at you, voice only a warble in the distance.

You can’t hear him, you don’t want to. You think he’s asking what you’re doing, and you only shake your head lazily, closing your eyes again. He touches you, grips your shoulder, gives you a firm shake. You try to ignore him, but he proceeds to do it again.

Sighing softly, you look up, only to realizing you’re seeing double. Cronus swims in your vision, growing more and more frantic with every long second that passes. He seems to be upset about something, and you notice him punching digits on his phone and turning the water off. 

You smile, peace flowing through your veins to replace the blood you’ve let. It’s so lovely. You can’t even imagine what you could be so upset about in the first place. Some he, you guess. You don’t remember. And that’s all you ever wanted.


End file.
